


The Girl who Chased Lost Memories

by angelcakesge



Category: Original Work, The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Cross-Posted on Wattpad, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Short Story, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelcakesge/pseuds/angelcakesge
Summary: I will remember you, I promise.In the world of magic and loving lives, in my death and my awakening. The spirit of you lingers on, I will remember it, I will try.I will die trying.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Girl who Chased Lost Memories

-Unmemorable.

Memory is an inconceivable commodity, once it was there, so clear and vivid; And in a flash, it is gone, no trace behind it. It leaves you Saudade; Empty, melancholic longing for something you don't even recall knowing.

Guinevere sits on her window ledge, breathing in the cool, wintry air as the once green pine trees, now painted in a beautiful coat of snow are rustling. The room is getting warmer slowly arising from the deep uncontrollable night.

The cold air wasn't the only thing that felt this, for Guinevere is alone.

The sun sends shimmering rays of golden light through the cracks of the curtains, a peachy reminder that what once was still and lifeless is alive once again.

Others may wake up groggy and upset from an alarm, demanding them to rise and begin the daily grind. They are disordered daily from the stirring sleep, a phone that contains unfortunate news from all over the globe daily; Like an undisciplined child that hits you in the head with a frying pan every morning.

Guinevere is content with the life she is living, unlike other twenty-two-year-olds, she has no desire for 'searching for herself'. She is satisfied with staying in New York; busy, troubled and full of unknowingly sad people. The colossal city, brimming with people, you can blend in with ease. Guinevere doesn't require blending in, she is quite invisible without even meaning to. Especially at work she is not ever commended by her boss; 'The unnecessary one, the useless one, the liability, nothing.' they would say or wouldn't say, they don't usually have many conversations, especially with her colleagues.

But as the 'nobody' girl gazes at the eye-catching sunrise, she smiles knowing she needs nothing else, nobody else. This was part of her routine, of course, she would sit on her window ledge and just stare, for hours. just captivated by the melting pigments of nature itself. The perks of an early riser, with dark shadows under her brown bug eyes, her dark hair clean and dishevelled. People would not think to take a second glance at her, as many people say, brunettes are plain, boring, normal. If you have brown eyes to match, even blander; Frankly, this is not very truthful. If you are fortuitous enough to gaze into a pair of brown in eyes in your life, you'd uncover that when these chocolate-coloured eyes are in sunlight, they transform into golden rays of happiness and purity.

Getting ready in the morning was quite simple, enjoyable even. Taking a brush through her chin-length hair, picking up an old collared shirt that was her mother's from the 80s and extremely loose, overalls that are also her mothers. The weather is cool enough to throw on a light jacket so she does just that. Other girls would call her clothing to taste their grandmother's clothes. Guinevere couldn't care less, She's off to her first task of the day. One step, two steps, three steps, four. Guinevere keeps a decent pace as she jaunts down the stone-cold path. It's still quite early, most people would call it the crack of dawn and try to get out of waking up at this time. But as we established, not this girl. Guinevere actually enjoys this to the extent of waking earlier than the average. Inhaling the woodsy scent of the trees and freshly moist grass, as part of her routine, before she has to depart to fulfil her daily tasks; Classes and work, or as the typical post-adolescence would say; Hell on earth. Not that this girl would ever even comprehend to word such a sentence, she believes that those kind words are not meant to voice, not her, as you have probably already realized.

Like a rose in a world of thorns, a diamond in a place full of coal, an angel in heaven for demons, a warrior in a world of cowards. As if the lord placed her twenty-four-carat soul in the wrong place, wrong world; wrong life. She'd believe that her school is somewhat tedious, thinking of rather more believable theories that what her teachers have claimed authentic. Jaunting is her favourite part of the day, but as time passes she has to go to school.

One book, Two books, Three books, Four. Stacking them slowly on top of each other as she walks along the shelves and shelves, filled to the brim with books; big books, small books, long books, short books, novels, magazines, fantasy books, romance novels, scripts, anything you could name. Ever since Guinevere was a young child, her parents had gotten her interests heavily into the art of literature. Even at a young age, it was quite obvious she was bright.

Her parents prided themselves on giving her a big and forthcoming future. She could move to a big city and work at any big agency she wanted, well what her parents wanted. She is scanning the books along with the shelve, her breath catches when she finds her favourite book as a child, The Little Prince. She slides the small treasure out with care, the last memory of such a simple time. An eye, two eyes appear as Guinevere adjusts the stack of books, leaning on her hip, she did not expect to see a pair of blue-green mysteries, there is a hint of gold that glistens in them, a pair of adventure and curiosity peer at her, she reels back in shock and drops her treasures, with a gasp, The sea-green curiosity disappears.


End file.
